


my love a beacon in the night

by zach_stone



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Blow Jobs, Christmas Fluff, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, First Kiss, Fluff and Smut, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, Hand Jobs, Holidays, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Canon, Richie Tozier Gets The Love He Deserves, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:00:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21879253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zach_stone/pseuds/zach_stone
Summary: “Well hey, I should get going, I just wanted to say hi and make sure you got in okay.”Richie’s heart leaps despite himself, that Eddie wants to check in on him. “Safe and sound,” he confirms. “If I don’t talk to you before then, Merry Christmas, Eddie.”There’s a brief pause, and Eddie’s voice is unmistakably fond when he says, “Merry Christmas, Richie.”After they hang up, Richie lies in bed for a few minutes, his phone resting against his chest. He’s equal parts warm and distressed by Eddie’s phone call, and the fantasy girlfriend he’s conjured up for Eddie in his mind. “Whatever,” he tells himself out loud. It doesn’t matter, not really — all he really wants is for Eddie to be happy, and he’d sounded happy on the phone, no matter what the reason. That’s enough.--Or, Richie's spending Christmas Eve alone in a hotel while on tour — but Eddie has plans to fix that.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 55
Kudos: 904





	my love a beacon in the night

**Author's Note:**

> hello hello! this is one of two holiday fics i have written for these two dorks. this is definitely the sappier of the two, but what can i say? richie deserves to be given love and affection and that's what this fic is all about. 
> 
> shoutout to the twitter crew, i threw in some things i know we all love. this one's for u guys xoxo
> 
> also, shoutout to richie and eddie for deciding they were gonna have sex in this fic, which i certainly didn't plan on, but hey. here we are. 
> 
> title from "winter song" by sara bareilles and ingrid michaelson

Snow frosts the window of Richie’s hotel room, the glass fogged up and obscuring the view of the city outside as he shoulders open the door and flicks on the light, dumping his suitcase on the floor and looking around. It’s a modest room, with a king-size bed and a small sofa. Nicer than he really needs, since he’s only here tonight and tomorrow night for a show. He wanted to treat himself to something a little nice, though, this time — tomorrow’s Christmas, after all.

It’s not the first time he’s spent Christmas Eve and Christmas itself on tour, celebrating by ordering some sort of dessert from room service and then watching made-for-TV Christmas movies until he falls asleep. He’s spent more holidays on the road than he has at home, and that’s fine by him. Richie hasn’t had much of a holiday spirit most years, anyway. It’s not like he has someone waiting for him back at his apartment in Chicago, so what does it matter? 

This year, it’s a little different. This year, he’s got his six best friends on speed dial, and he actually has people besides his mom to buy presents for. He’s got Christmas cards stuck to his fridge back home — one from Mike with a picture of him at the Grand Canyon, and another from the newly cohabitating Ben and Beverly. Knowing his friends are out there living their lives fills him with a comforting kind of warmth, and he’s been smiling fondly to himself whenever he imagines them unwrapping the gifts he mailed out last week. 

He’s still spending Christmas alone, but it doesn’t bother him, really. His friends all have their own holiday plans, and he has… this Best Western in Boston. Richie sighs to himself, closing the door and gathering up his suitcase again so he can change into flannel pajama pants and a sweatshirt and get started on his decidedly  _ not  _ pathetic movie marathon in bed.

Richie’s just started yanking the covers out from where they’re tightly tucked into the mattress when his phone buzzes on the bedside table. Eddie’s face pops up on his screen. It’s a photo of him the day his divorce was finalized; Bev, who’d taken him to dinner afterwards, had snapped a picture and texted it to the group chat with the caption  _ officially back on the market!  _ Richie had been only slightly mopey that he wasn’t the one to take Eddie out and make divorce jokes at him, but he knew that it was probably for the best for many reasons. Like the fact that Richie might not have been able to restrain himself from propositioning Eddie right there on the courthouse steps. 

Richie grabs his phone and answers it, flopping back onto the half-made bed as he does so. “Eds! What’s up?”

“Hey Rich,” Eddie says, his voice warm. It makes Richie’s heart flutter, a smile crossing his face instinctively. He and Eddie talk enough now that it shouldn’t still feel like a revelation to hear his voice, not after four months, but somehow it does. Like it’s a miracle Richie gets to have this, his best friend’s voice in his ear at least four times a week. “You get into Boston okay?”

“Yep, just got to my hotel,” Richie says. “Now I’m getting ready for my big Christmas Eve plans.”

Eddie snorts. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“Well according to my TV guide, they’re doing a rerun of  _ The Mistletoe Promise,  _ so I’m all fuckin’ set,” Richie says, grinning when Eddie laughs. On Eddie’s end of the line, he hears the sound of cars passing by, the muffled chatter of people, and says, “Are you outside?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” Eddie says. 

Richie glances at the clock on the nightstand. It’s after ten; Eddie’s not one to be wandering around Times Square after dark. He frowns slightly. Eddie’s been unusually vague about his holiday plans, so Richie has no clue what he’s up to this evening. Not that it’s any of his business. Maybe he’s started seeing someone and is spending the holidays with them. Richie has a sudden image of Eddie, arm-in-arm with some generically pretty woman, taking in the lights and decorations around the city. It opens a pit in his stomach. 

Even if that is what he’s doing, though, Eddie still called Richie. He’ll take what he can get. “Someone’s up past his bedtime,” Richie teases, shoving his jealousy over a potentially nonexistent woman into a back corner of his brain. 

“I have my reasons,” Eddie says mysteriously. “Well hey, I should get going, I just wanted to say hi and make sure you got in okay.” 

Richie’s heart leaps despite himself, that Eddie wants to check in on him. “Safe and sound,” he confirms. “If I don’t talk to you before then, Merry Christmas, Eddie.” 

There’s a brief pause, and Eddie’s voice is unmistakably fond when he says, “Merry Christmas, Richie.” 

After they hang up, Richie lies in bed for a few minutes, his phone resting against his chest. He’s equal parts warm and distressed by Eddie’s phone call, and the fantasy girlfriend he’s conjured up for Eddie in his mind. “Whatever,” he tells himself out loud. It doesn’t  _ matter,  _ not really — all he really wants is for Eddie to be happy, and he’d sounded happy on the phone, no matter what the reason. That’s enough. 

Richie finishes untucking the blankets and clambers under the covers so he can get started on his movie marathon. He’s only at the opening credits, though, when there’s a knock on the door. He frowns; he didn’t call for room service yet. He kicks off the blankets and mutes the TV, shuffling over to the door and pulling it open.

He’s greeted with a chorus of “Merry Christmas!” and the sight of seven cheery, red-nosed faces beaming at him. Richie gapes, taking in the sight of all six Losers, plus Patty Uris, standing in the hallway wrapped up in coats and scarves, half of them carrying bags and boxes in their arms. 

“I — what?” he stammers finally. “What?” His eyes land on Eddie, who’s standing closest to him and looking positively smug. “Were you outside  _ here  _ when you just called me?”

“No, I teleported,” Eddie deadpans. “Yeah, dumbass! I was just making sure you were already here before we showed up.” 

“Can we have this conversation inside? My arms hurt,” Bev says, hoisting the large cardboard box in her arms. Richie quickly steps back so his friends can file in, and Bev goes up on her toes to kiss his cheek as she passes. “Hi, Rich.”

“What the hell is all this?” Richie asks, watching as Bev sets down the box on the carpet next to the bed. She opens it to reveal an assortment of string lights and garlands, as well as a miniature plastic Christmas tree. “Should I be concerned that you knew where I was staying?”

“We got in touch with your manager,” Bill says. “Turns out he was very excited at the prospect of you not being a sad sack by yourself on Christmas for once. He also comped us tickets for your show tomorrow, so you’ll have a front row of hecklers.” 

“It was all Eddie’s idea,” Stan adds, pulling off his scarf and tossing it on the bed. “Made us all swear not to make other plans, like, a month and a half ago. Not that Pat or I would’ve had plans anyway,” he adds with a wry smile. 

“We brought booze and decorations,” Mike says, setting a grocery bag on the nightstand.

“Again, Eddie’s idea,” Stan says.

Richie stares at Eddie, who is halfway through shrugging off his peacoat and looks — less smug and more sheepish, now. He offers Richie a smile and a little shrug. “Spending Christmas in a hotel  _ is _ kinda sad, Rich,” he says, like that explains away the enormity of this gesture. Richie keeps staring at him, his heart swelling in his chest, and he doesn’t even realize just how emotional he’s getting until he blinks rapidly and feels the betrayal of tears start to burn behind his eyes. 

Eddie looks immediately alarmed. “Richie, hey —” He steps forward and touches Richie’s arm, gripping his bicep. Richie gives him a watery smile and swipes at his eyes, embarrassed. 

“Sorry,” he says, laughing wetly. “I just — this is really nice. Fuck you guys, this makes my Christmas presents for you all look like shit.”

“Oh, we brought them!” Ben says, pointing to one of the other big bags they’d all brought in. “And presents for you, too. We waited to open yours so we could do it all together tonight.” 

Richie thinks about what he got for everyone — various T-shirts from his own merch store, all of the worst designs with his face on them. Well, it’ll be fun to see all of their reactions in person. Even if it does make him look like a real shithead in comparison to  _ this.  _

Eddie is still watching him with vague concern, so Richie smiles down at him reassuringly. “I’m fine, Eds. Really.”

Eddie gives Richie’s arm a comforting squeeze and pats at Richie’s chest with his other hand. Richie feels a shuddery, nervous heat fizzle in his ribs at the touch. Before he knows it, Bev is putting her arms around him in a hug, and then Stan comes over to join in, and soon all of the Losers are squishing him in a big group embrace, with Eddie pressed up against his chest in a way that Richie has to focus  _ very  _ hard on not thinking about.

“Alright, alright,” he says, laughing. “Get off me, you freaks. I love you too.” 

Everyone pitches in to decorate the room, hanging up the lights and looping the garlands around the headboard of the bed and the door and window frames. The tiny tree sits in the frosted windowsill, a pile of presents stacked on the floor beneath it. Mike mixes together some eggnog and brandy, and before long they’re all sprawled on the bed or floor, drinking and chatting away. Richie’s never far from anyone’s touch — Bev leans up against his legs from her spot on the carpet, or Bill slings an arm around his shoulders and tipsily clinks their glasses together. Eddie stays close the whole time, watching Richie with a small smile on his face. It’s enough to make Richie a little nervous, unsure of what exactly Eddie’s looking for. 

When it hits midnight, Bev yells, “Presents!” and scoots over to the gift pile to start distributing everything. 

Predictably, everyone groans when they open Richie’s gifts. Eddie, who is holding a bright purple T-shirt with blindingly neon font reading  _ TRASHMOUTH  _ and a cartoonified picture of Richie’s head across the chest, gives Richie a positively withering look. 

“I’m not wearing this,” he insists. 

“How rude,” Richie says, unable to hide his shit-eating grin. “Look, Bill’s wearing his!”

Bill’s shirt is black, two sizes too big, and features Richie giving the middle finger. He seems to find it hilarious. Eddie is unimpressed.

Shortly after presents are opened, Ben finds a channel that’s playing  _ How the Grinch Stole Christmas,  _ the old cartoon version from the ’60s, and insists they all watch it. Everyone piles onto the bed, and Richie finds himself wedged between Eddie and Stan. Eddie is pressed right up against him again, probably so he doesn’t fall off the edge of the bed. While Mike and Bill start to drunkenly sing along to “You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch,” Richie leans in to whisper to Eddie, “Thank you for this. You didn’t have to.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I just mean, like. I appreciate you putting aside your other holiday plans to organize this shit. I would’ve been fine, it doesn’t really matter if I’m alone. Christmas is just a day.”

“This  _ was  _ my holiday plans, you idiot,” Eddie says. “Even if no one else was able to make it, I was always planning to come and surprise you. I — I know that’s really presumptuous of me, but. It’s not like I would’ve been doing anything else.” He looks embarrassed again.

Richie’s heart is doing all sorts of funny things in his chest. Eddie’s been planning — for  _ months,  _ apparently — to surprise him on Christmas. He can’t find words to sincerely express how he’s feeling, so instead he says, “You know, when you were being all cagey about your plans before, I thought it was because you were hooking up with some mystery girl.” 

On Richie’s other side, Stan snorts. Richie, who didn’t realize anyone was listening in, elbows him in the ribs. Eddie, meanwhile, stares at Richie wide-eyed for a moment before bursting into laughter that he tries to muffle with his hands. Luckily, everyone else is drunk enough and engrossed enough in the cartoon that they don’t pay much attention. “Richie,” Eddie manages finally, still snickering, “you are  _ such  _ a moron.”

“Well, I don’t know!” Richie protests. “I don’t know what you get up to! You’re divorced, you’re a free man!”

“Sure,” Eddie says. He’s giving Richie a very pointed look, and Richie very pointedly doesn’t interpret it the way he wants to, because he doesn’t want to get his hopes up. Even if all the signs seem to be pointing toward one very specific conclusion. He can feel Stan judging him and he hasn’t even said anything.

Eventually, drunk and sleepy, everyone staggers out of Richie’s room with their gifts in hand. Apparently they’ve all booked rooms in the hotel, so Richie doesn’t have to worry about anyone wandering around Boston in the dark. Bev kisses him on the cheek as she leaves, and so does Mike. Richie loves his friends, he really fucking does.

“We’ll come by in the morning for breakfast,” Patty promises.

“Or brunch,” Stan adds, glancing at his watch and wincing. “A very,  _ very  _ late brunch.”

“If I’m awake before noon it’ll be a miracle,” Richie tells him. 

He watches them all go, waving and calling “good night” and “Merry Christmas” over their shoulders, and then Richie turns to see that Eddie’s still standing there next to him.

“Mind if I hang out a little longer?” Eddie asks.

As if Richie would ever say no. “You can stay as long as you like, Eds.” 

They stand there looking at each other for a moment, and Richie feels weirdly nervous, so he shuts the door and then goes over to sit on the bed. Eddie comes to sit cross-legged across from him and smiles — he looks comfortable, like he’d happily spend the rest of the night just sitting here with Richie in the companionable quiet, as snow drifts outside in the moonlight. Richie doesn’t think he’s ever felt this happy on Christmas, not since he was a little kid. It’s kind of pathetic, maybe, how Eddie’s presence makes the hotel room feel more like a  _ home  _ than any of the decorations his friends put up. Richie smiles back at Eddie, but his lip trembles, and before he knows it he’s tearing up again.

Eddie makes a soft noise of distress. “Richie,” he says gently, reaching across to grab the nearest bit of Richie that he can, which ends up being his ankle.

“Shit, I’m being such a fuckin’ crybaby tonight,” Richie says, sniffling. He drops his gaze, unable to meet Eddie’s eyes. “I — this is about to get really pathetic, so don’t laugh at me — I just. Forgot. What it’s like to… I mean, most of my life I’ve never had anyone who cared about me enough to do something like this. I’m a little overwhelmed, that’s all.”

Eddie’s hand squeezes around his ankle, and then he’s shifting on the bed so he’s sitting next to Richie instead, pulling him down into a hug. It’s a bit of an awkward angle, their torsos twisted while they sit side-by-side, but Richie melts into it anyway, looping his arms around Eddie’s shoulders and resting his cheek on top of Eddie’s head. And if he gets a few tears in Eddie’s hair, well, that’s a risk Eddie signed up for when he started hugging him while he’s all weepy. 

Eventually, Eddie pulls back a little bit, but his face is still so close that their noses nearly brush, and Richie can feel Eddie’s breath against his lips when he says quietly but firmly, “Things are going to be different now, okay? I’m — I’m gonna make sure you know that there are people who care about you.” One of his hands moves to the side of Richie’s neck, his thumb smoothing over the sensitive skin just below Richie’s jaw. Even quieter, Eddie says, “People who love you.”

Eddie’s fingers are very soft. His eyes are big and dark and he’s giving Richie a look that’s burning right through him. Richie swallows, knowing Eddie can feel it, and lets their noses bump gently. His voice shakes a little when he whispers, “Like you?”

Eddie smiles, and it crinkles the corners of his eyes. Richie loves him desperately. “Like me,” Eddie agrees. He tips his head to the side a bit, and Richie lets his eyes shut as he feels Eddie’s nose press gently into his cheek, Eddie’s lips brushing against his own. Richie makes a soft noise, and Eddie presses in closer, kissing him languid and slow. When they break for air, they’re still so close they’re basically breathing into each other’s mouths, and then Eddie moves on the bed until he’s in front of Richie, practically in his lap. He takes Richie’s face in both hands and moves in again, kissing him open-mouthed, his tongue pushing into Richie’s mouth and licking over his back teeth. Richie whimpers, clutching at Eddie and pressing his fingers hard into the small of his back. 

Richie is entirely overwhelmed, feeling emotional and horny and so in love he could burst. He draws back, his forehead against Eddie’s, and breathes heavily into the space between them. “I can’t believe this is happening. I — and you did all of this for me, and you  _ love _ me — I can’t believe this.” 

Eddie chuckles. “Well, believe it. I wanted you to have a good Christmas, Rich. I know you said it’s just a day, but. You deserve it.”

“Eddie, seriously, you could’ve woken me up at five in the morning, showed up empty-handed and planted one on me and it would’ve been the best Christmas of my fucking life.” Richie smiles, meeting Eddie’s fond gaze. “Seriously, this is all just…  _ more _ than I deserve. Thank you. I love you too, you know that, right? So fucking much.”

“I had an inkling,” Eddie says. He kisses Richie again, nosing at his jaw and trailing his lips across the stubble on Richie’s cheek. Then, murmuring into his ear, Eddie says, “And you do deserve this. You deserve everything.”

Richie chokes out a pathetic sound, his hands sliding up Eddie’s back to hold him close. “God, Eds, I just…” He breaks off, unable to find the words. Eddie seems to get it anyway, leaning back to push his fingers through Richie’s hair, brushing it off his forehead. He’s looking at Richie with so much open affection and desire, Richie can’t help but blush. He doesn’t think anyone’s ever looked at him like this before. 

“It’s okay, Richie,” Eddie tells him. “I love you, it’s okay.”

Richie laughs shakily. “Feels like I’m dreaming when you say that.”

Eddie’s arms go around Richie’s waist, and a moment later he shoves his hands up the back of Richie’s sweatshirt, palming at his warm, bare skin. “Would you — wanna take this off?” he says. He fumbles a little with the words, like he’s nervous, too, but there’s a blazing  _ want  _ in his expression and Richie wants right back, so he nods and pulls his sweatshirt off, flinging it aside. Eddie’s eyes roam over his chest, and then he pushes gently at Richie’s shoulders until he lies back against the headboard. Eddie straddles him, bending his head to kiss the side of Richie’s throat, layering hot, open-mouthed kisses there. 

“Oh, fuck,” Richie breathes. He shifts a little, his hips twitching when Eddie bites into the curve of skin where his neck meets his shoulder. He’s already half-hard, and he can feel the insistent press of Eddie’s dick against his thigh, too.

Eddie’s mouth continues a path along Richie’s collarbone, across his chest. Richie forgets to be embarrassed by his body’s imperfections when Eddie’s pressing searing kisses into his skin, biting and sucking little marks on the softness of Richie’s stomach. When he gets to the waistband of Richie’s pajama pants, Eddie looks up. He’s settled between Richie’s legs, his hands splayed on Richie’s hips. His hair is disheveled because Richie can’t keep himself from running his fingers through it. He’s still fully dressed. He looks like every wet dream Richie’s ever had.

“Can I…” Eddie pauses, dipping his fingers beneath the elastic of the waistband. “Can I blow you?” 

Richie groans, feeling his dick twitch in his pants. “Eds, you can do anything you fucking want.” 

Eddie tugs Richie’s pants and boxers down to his thighs in one swift motion, and Richie’s cock bobs free, fully hard now. Eddie lets out a breath. He meets Richie’s gaze again. Richie feels dazed, his cheeks flushed and his chest already heaving. 

“I’ve never done this before,” Eddie tells him. He takes Richie’s cock in his hand and gives it a slow stroke. “So tell me if I’m doing something wrong, okay?”

“I don’t think there’s anything you could do wrong right now,” Richie manages.

“I just don’t want to give you a shitty blowjob,” Eddie says, and Richie wheezes out a laugh. Eddie smirks, looking pleased with himself, and then ducks down to press a few sloppy, open-mouthed kisses to Richie’s inner thigh. It’s so much —  _ messier  _ than Richie ever expected Eddie to be, and he’s not even the one getting touched. The fact that just touching Richie is making Eddie come undone enough to get a little sloppy,  _ well.  _ Richie’s dick twitches in Eddie’s grip. Eddie notices, and pulls his mouth away from the crease where Richie’s thigh meets his hip. “Alright, let’s do this thing,” he says, which is probably the funniest thing Richie thinks he’s ever heard someone say before sex, but then Eddie’s lips are closing around the head of his cock and he loses the ability to think about anything else. 

“Fuck, _ Eddie,”  _ he groans, threading his fingers through Eddie’s hair. His other hand scrabbles at the sheets before gripping them tightly. Eddie’s mouth is so hot and wet, his tongue sliding along the underside of Richie’s cock. One of Eddie’s hands presses against Richie’s hipbone, and the other circles the base of Richie’s cock as he takes more of him into his mouth. Richie pants, feeling so overwhelmed that he almost wants to close his eyes, but he can’t look away. Eddie’s brow is knit with concentration, and every once in a while he flicks his gaze up to meet Richie’s, his pupils blown wide. 

He feels his climax building, a tight heat coiling in his gut, and he taps frantically at Eddie’s shoulder. “Eds, I’m — I’m really close.” Eddie pulls off, stroking Richie’s spit-slick cock and propping himself up on an elbow, watching Richie’s expression as he gets closer to the edge. 

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Eddie says, his voice a little raspy from giving head, and Richie lets out a choked noise, bucking into Eddie’s grip.

“Eddie,” he whines, finally squeezing his eyes shut. “Eddie, Eddie —”

He comes gasping Eddie’s name, spilling onto his stomach. Eddie strokes him through it until his dick is soft and he’s twitching with oversensitivity. Richie opens his eyes, breathing heavily. “Sweetheart?” he repeats, belatedly.

Eddie’s already flushed cheeks get even darker. “I got caught up in the moment,” he says. “Shut up.”

“No, no, I liked it,” Richie says, pushing himself up onto his elbows. He reaches down to trace Eddie’s jaw with his fingertips. “I like it when you say nice things to me.”

Eddie huffs a laugh, leaning into his touch. “And here I thought you’d get off on me insulting you.”

“Oh, I like that too,” Richie says, grinning. Eddie laughs again and then sits up. His erection is obvious, straining in his pants. Richie says, “Hey, you want me to —?”

“Please,” Eddie says, fumbling to undo his pants. He kicks them off entirely and then clambers back over Richie again, naked from the waist down. He leans in to kiss him, long and deep, and his tongue is still in Richie’s mouth when Richie reaches down to stroke his cock. Eddie moans against his lips.

“You’re so hard,” Richie says as he pumps Eddie’s cock steadily, building a rhythm. He thumbs over the slit, and Eddie whines. 

“Yeah, no shit,” Eddie says, thrusting into Richie’s hand. 

“So you’re like. Really into me, huh?” Richie says.

Eddie manages to give him an incredulous look, even as his thrusts grow increasingly erratic. “Are you seriously fishing for compliments right now with your hand on my dick?”

“No!” Richie laughs. He reaches up with his other hand and cradles the base of Eddie’s skull, pulls him close for a kiss. “I just — I can’t believe this is happening. I’ve spent so long loving you and I really never thought —” He’s cut off when Eddie surges forward to kiss him again. When they break apart, Eddie is gasping every breath, his hair flopping against his forehead.

“I love you,” Eddie says. “I love you so fucking much, Richie, I — I’m gonna come.”

“Go ahead,” Richie says, his heart racing. “C’mon, Eds, come on me, mark me up.”

“Jesus  _ fucking  _ Christ,” Eddie groans, and comes hard, splattering Richie’s stomach and chest. He whines, knocking their foreheads together, and shudders bodily before tipping sideways to lie on his back next to Richie. “Fuck,” he says to the ceiling. 

Richie grins, watching the rapid rise and fall of Eddie’s chest as he comes down. “You are somethin’ else, Eds.”

Eddie turns his head to look at him, a slow, satisfied smile creeping across his face. Richie touches his face, thumbs at his dimple. Eddie’s eyes drift shut.

“So is this what you were laughing about earlier?” Richie asks.

Eddie cracks an eye open again. “The fact that you thought I got divorced so I could see other women when I’m obviously gay and obviously in love with you? Yeah, dude.”

“In my defense, I’m terminally stupid,” Richie says, grinning. 

Eddie says, “I’m very aware.” He opens his other eye and gives Richie a quick once-over before he starts giggling. 

“What?” Richie asks, already starting to laugh himself.

“I’m still wearing my fuckin’ sweater,” Eddie says. “And your pants aren’t even off all the way. We’re a mess.” Still laughing, he rolls onto his side and leans in to kiss Richie on the cheek. It’s soft, tender enough that Richie starts to feel all teary and sentimental again. “Merry Christmas, Rich,” Eddie murmurs.

Richie smiles. “Merry Christmas, Eddie.” 

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading! hmu on twitter @hermanngottiieb if u want more from me, and please leave a comment if u are so inclined, i really appreciate them!!! ok bye happy holidays


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